


In Deep Purple Hue

by AstriferousSprite



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Butch/Femme, Coming Out, F/F, GAY/LESBIAN SOLIDARITY, Gay Awakening, Gay Panic, Getting Together, Horseback Riding, Lesbian Theresa, Light Angst, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon, and if that means reading way into a minor character?, canon is my bitch and i shall do with it as i please, then so be it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstriferousSprite/pseuds/AstriferousSprite
Summary: Somehow, they had all outgrown the misdirected desire borne out of cramming a school full of young women and no boy in sight to swoon over; they had all managed to fit into their perfectly prescribed roles as demure young debutantes and dutiful housewives. Theresa had almost hoped she’d, too, outgrow her childish whims; when Toby Hamilton had stumbled back into her social circle after a stint at Oxford, she could almost imagine herself at his side.And then, Susan Pinto had come along and ruined everything.
Relationships: Theresa Buchanan/Original Female Character, Toby Hamilton & Theresa Buchanan, Toby Hamilton/Adil Joshi (background)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	In Deep Purple Hue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArtDeco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtDeco/gifts).



> Long story short, one fine summer evening I took a good hard look at the character of Theresa Buchanan, and how she was so insistent on getting together with Toby even though he showed her absolutely zero interest, and I realized at that moment that despite what the writers were going for, this was CLEARLY a girl struggling with comphet, and, well, my little lesbian fingers took over from there... Huge shoutout to Mel and Laura for helping me brainstorm up Theresa's lady love, and to Noah for being my cheerleader throughout this whole process and also coining the subtitle "save a horse" which, accurate, but still.
> 
> Also, this one, uh, gets a bit Spicy towards the end, so if sexual content isn't your jam, then feel free to skip the entire paragraph starting with "The aroma of mahogany and clean leather..." and return at "One of Theresa’s other society friends was wed that September." It's not super plot relevant (just a bit of bonus canoodling), so you won't miss out on much.
> 
> Title taken from "The Bonnie Banks o'Loch Lomond".

“You should put Mr. Hamilton out of mind, Milady.”

Theresa sighed, fiddling with her skirt as the stable hand continued to adjust the saddle straps. “It's not that easy, Susan,” she said. “He was the best gentleman I knew, and he just turned me down in front of everyone like that! Can’t I just mope around for a few more weeks?”

“I refuse to let you be miserable in my company,” said Susan. “And certainly, he can’t quite be the best.”

“Well, maybe not the best, but certainly the only man I’ve ever felt comfortable around,” she said, a sudden flush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. “I mean, all the other gentlemen always, you know, _leer_ at you, or make such awful remarks, but Toby… Toby never so much as said an uncouth word to any woman—”

“Or, from what it sounds, never so much as said a word to them,” said Susan, giving the saddle a final tug before patting Rowan’s neck and stepping away. “Why would you want to spend your company with a man—with someone who won’t even give you the time of day?”

“Because,” said Theresa, as Susan folded her hands together and bended down, “I only have one shot at settling down, so it might as well be with a man I can tolerate.” Susan grunted as Theresa delicately stepped into her outstretched hands and guided her up to the saddle. “It’s not like I have that many more options.”

“With all due respect, Milady,” said Susan, brushing the stray locks of short curly hair that had fallen into her freckled forehead, “you deserve better than to just settle for tolerance.” She looked up at Theresa, her eyes wide and earnest. “Why not try to be happy?”

Theresa’s voice caught in her throat. “I, er, well—” Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the sprawling country ahead of her. “Never mind all that. I’ll be back by supper.”

“Aye, Milady.”

With a final shake of her head, she finally clicked her tongue and urged her horse forward.

She had to admit that eventually her parents had made a good choice in getting her the Irish Hunter; Rowan was a steady lad, always ready for the long rides that his mistress found herself increasingly taking him on, especially since that fateful night in September where it was almost as if everything was happening at once—the wedding, the bombs, the solid rejection from Toby and the subsequent loss of hope that maybe she could have a semblance at a normal married life. But she rarely had time to worry about all that once she was seated aside the young, dappled steed as they made their way across the grasslands.

The evening was a rare warm one, possibly one of the last few before the autumn chill properly set in. The wind was warm and sweet across her face as she rode, urging Rowan into a nice trot and then a full gallop across the estate; her conversation with Susan had left her feeling even more light-headed than usual, and she desperately needed to stay away from her thoughts if only for the next hour or so.

But as the pair slowed down and made their way back to the stables, Theresa found her thoughts creeping back in once more, and the sudden thought of Susan guiding her back down, their hands intertwined the whole way down, made her suddenly want to turn back and not even bother getting off. And, sure enough, as soon as she made her way back, there she was, leaning against the wall with her thumbs tucked into her beltloops. As soon as she caught eye of Theresa, however, she promptly straightened up, the casual façade fading back into something more professional. More appropriate.

Less authentic.

“I was wondering when you’d be back, Milady,” she said, once Theresa was dismounted and sufficiently unable to focus on anything else but the stable girl’s hands. “Lord and Lady Buchanan were looking for you earlier.”

“Oh, they did?” said Theresa, her voice oddly distant as Susan rolled up her sleeves and continued putting away her riding gear. How had she never noticed that her arms were as freckly as the rest of her? “It’s not that late already, is it?”

“Quarter till,” said Susan. “You best be getting back to the house to change before supper; your father was most insistent.”

“Oh, why can’t I just stay here forever?” Theresa gave Rowan a few affectionate pats on the neck. “Forget about supper.”

She could have sworn she heard a soft laugh from behind her, but she must have been mistaken; when she turned around again, Susan was already busying herself with Rowan’s tacks with hardly a smile on her face.

“I don’t quite fancy having to explain to His Lordship,” she said, leading Rowan away. “Have a good evening, Milady.”

“Oh, er, you too.”

Susan shot one last look her way, before glancing downward; a wave of warmth jolted through Theresa’s chest. “You best be getting those wiped down, Milady,” she whispered. “Don’t want to track more mud into the house.”

_Susan is riding across the garden._

_From her spot lying in the heather, Theresa can see her perfectly clearly; she’s mounted on a chestnut horse, riding astride in tight trousers as she gallops across the neatly trimmed grass. Her red curls bounce across her forehead, and the loose cut of her white shirt billows in the wind. Theresa could watch her forever—and so she does just that, until Susan comes to a stop at her feet._

_“Milady,” she says with a wide, cocky grin; it’s plain to see she’s not wearing anything underneath her shirt._

_Theresa scrambles to a sitting position, her skirt twisting around her legs. “I was waiting for you,” she says. It’s unbearably straightforward, but she doesn’t care, not when Susan is looking at her like something to be savored._

_“I was wondering when you’d show up,” she drawls, then jumps off the horse onto the grass. She carelessly peels off her shirt, letting it drift down to the ground; her exposed breasts are pale and round. “Let me give you a hand.”_

_“Yes, Milady,” she says, letting Susan hoist her up, before wrapping her strong freckled arms around her waist. Instinctively, Theresa leans back and braces herself against her chest, letting her hands fall to her soft breasts; she wants to taste them, savor their feeling, know every inch of Susan._

_Instead, she closes her eyes and lets herself be passionately kissed by the other woman, lets herself fall back onto the grass, lets her skirt be pushed up to her waist. The sky is_ _clear_ _and the heather is bright and Susan’s touch is everything she’s ever wanted and more…_

Theresa could still feel Susan’s touch between her legs when she awoke.

The sun was warm and bright against her closed eyelids; she imagined the flowers would be at their loveliest in the light of the sunrise, the heather glowing in magnificent pinks and purples—the heather, where Susan had taken her last night. Lovely flowers, but hardly a scent to them, not as lovely as the aroma of peppermint and rosemary that always clung to the stable girl.

 _Maybe next time she’ll fuck me among the rosemary,_ she thought—then jolted up, the dream finally slipping from her mind as the panic took hold of her.

For a moment, all she could do was sit there with the covers bunched around her waist as she squeezed her eyes shut. Eventually, though, when she failed to scrub the image of Susan’s bare chest from her mind, she relented, getting up to draw the curtains open.

She’d known for years that she was peculiar. Ever since her days at boarding school, she’d nod along to her classmates’ comments on the pretty boys that would stay the summer at their lavish estates, pretending as if the butterflies and giddiness came just as naturally to her—but when she’d drift off to sleep it was not the young heirs she’d dream of, but the girls sound asleep beside her in the dormitory. She’d had a friend—Eliza Cameron—who had the loveliest raven tresses and a wide smile that tilted slightly to one corner. She would sometimes kiss Theresa on the cheek and hold her hand while they talked about their day; once, they’d even properly kissed each other, though of course it was just practice for their future husbands. At night, Theresa would dream about those lips and wonder where else they could go, where else she could feel them.

Eliza was a married woman, now; she found herself hitched to a charming navy captain. Theresa had been the maid of honor, already wondering how she never seemed to have the luck of her other friends.

Somehow, they had all outgrown the misdirected desire borne out of cramming a school full of young women and no boy in sight to swoon over; they had all managed to fit into their perfectly prescribed roles as demure young debutantes and dutiful housewives. Theresa had almost hoped she’d, too, outgrow her childish whims; when Toby Hamilton had stumbled back into her social circle after a stint at Oxford, she could almost imagine herself at his side.

And then, Susan Pinto had come along and ruined everything.

Her parents had hired her just three months ago, after their last stable boy had been called up and left them short a pair of hands. Young men in search of work were hard to come by nowadays, what with the war finally taking hold, and so they’d had to make do with the young Scottish woman. Lord Buchanan had initially disapproved of her short hair and boyish clothing and coarse mannerisms, but when she’d managed to charm Chester, their old temperamental Clydesdale, in less than a day, he'd had to admit she knew how to get the job done and kept her around.

And yet, it seemed that everything Daddy disliked about Susan was precisely what drew Theresa to her day after day.

It was enticing.

It was _wrong_.

Theresa sighed, leaning against the wall.

It didn’t matter much, anyway. Susan probably didn’t think much of her—probably just another spoiled brat she had to service. And besides, breakfast was in an hour; she hardly had time to dwell on such matters.

 _Just put it out of mind,_ she thought as she got dressed for the day, though it hardly did a good job of convincing her. _You’ll see. It’ll fade with time. It has to._

“Have you heard,” said Theresa, “that they’ve nearly finished the reconstruction of the Halcyon Hotel?”

Susan clicked her tongue as she went to fetch Rowan, Theresa eagerly following on her heels. It had rained the night before; Theresa could still smell the sweet petrichor rising from the soil. “The one that got destroyed last December?”

“The very same,” said Theresa, winding her way around the stables; she’d always taken a bit more of an interest in horses than was considered proper, and over the past few months, Susan had been more than happy to show her how to properly care for the horses in their care. Mummy thought it was unladylike of her, but Susan appreciated the extra hand, so that was all that mattered. “The one that Toby’s brother owns, too.”

“Have you been much in contact with Mr. Hamilton, Milady?”

“Not at all,” she said. They stopped at Rowan’s enclosure, and Theresa took the chance to stroke his neck and give him a sugar lump from Susan’s pocket. “But word gets around, you know, and I’ve heard it’s been absolute chaos. But most of the rooms have been restored, and they have half a ballroom, so perhaps they’ll start events again.” Rowan snorted softly as she secured his lead and began to walk him out. “Not like it would matter much—Mummy and Daddy have been so nervous to set foot in London again ever since the raids started, but it would be nice to see everyone again—”

“For your birthday,” said Susan. “Tenth of May, right?”

Theresa smiled, a soft blush rising to her cheeks. “Right,” she said. “How did you remember?”

“I remember a great deal of things.” She coughed. “Part of the job, Milady.”

When they stopped outside the stables, Susan immediately started to head back towards the tack room when Theresa motioned at her to stop.

“Just a moment, Susan.” Susan looked up, curious. “I’d… I’d like to show you something.”

“What kind of thing, Milady?”

“Just—just turn around for a moment.” A pause. “Please?”

With a grin, Susan turned her back. Theresa’s heart immediately began to race as she rushed to get her proper riding skirt off; Daddy had been a bit surprised at her request last week, but he gave in quite nicely after she insisted it was all the fashion at the riding clubs these days.

Suddenly feeling bare without the thick fabric of the skirt to hide her legs, Theresa cleared her throat. “You can turn back around now.”

Susan complied, and as soon as she was facing Theresa again her eyes widened as she took in her form.

“Milady…”

Theresa giggled. “What do you think?” she asked, twirling around so that Susan could see her new Jodhpurs from every angle. “I’ve always wanted to get a pair, but I was too afraid until now…”

She was silent for a few seconds before clearing her throat and looking back up. “Well, Milady, they…” She bit her lips. “They suit you well, Milady.”

 _She thinks they suit me!_ “Great!” she said, clapping her hands. “Because I want to ride properly today.” She narrowed her eyes, stepping towards Susan with a conspiratorial grin. “You know. Astride.”

“…astride?”

“Yes, none of that side-saddle nonsense. Besides, wasn’t it you who said it was the proper form for riding and that side-saddle was just a load of proprietary rubbish?”

Susan giggled, her teeth once more grazing her bottom lip. _God,_ how Theresa wished she’d do it again. “I’ll fetch a men’s saddle, then,” she said, turning on her heel. “Get Rowan all nice and groomed in the meantime, aye?”

“Aye,” she echoed.

Susan came back a few minutes later with a men’s saddle in one hand and Chester’s lead in another.

“I didn’t mean to presume,” she said, starting to tack up Rowan, “but it might be easier for me to show you how to ride properly, not just tell you…”

“No, no, that’s alright,” said Theresa, though she couldn’t deny that there was a slight twinge of disappointment in her heart upon realizing that Susan wouldn’t be seated right behind her, showing her the ropes while resting her head on her shoulder… “Chester’s practically your horse, anyhow.”

This time, she couldn’t deny the soft smile on the stable girl’s face.

“Alright,” she said, brushing her hands on her trousers and crouching down, “now the mounting’s a bit different this time around, but it’s not that bad. You just have to get your right leg over to the other side and then it’s business as usual.”

Theresa gulped. “Right,” she said, taking a tentative step towards Susan’s outstretched hands and locking her left foot in it. Instinctively, her right leg scrambled towards the stirrup, but this time she fought it, swinging her leg over until she connected with the stirrups.

“There you are, Milady!” She couldn’t help but grin at Susan’s praise. “Already feels so much different, doesn’t it?”

“More than that.” With her body fully facing forward, Theresa couldn’t help but feel a bit more stable even in this foreign position. “It feels more natural.”

She heard a grunt as Susan hoisted herself up onto Chester. “It does feel that way, no?” she said, gently walking Chester closer to her; she looked so natural, seated upon him. As if the saddle were her throne. “Makes you wonder why we ever chose the side in the first place. Now, let’s get going…”

With a click of her tongue, Theresa urged Rowan forward, and the two girls set off across the garden. The sensation of the saddle beneath her was stranger sitting fully astride, but she found it much easier to hold her body in position when she didn’t constantly have to look to her side. Of course, not like it did her much good; she was still constantly sneaking peeks at Susan as the two rode along.

“Did you ride much?” asked Theresa as they rounded the pond. “Back home, that is.”

“Oh, plenty,” said Susan. “We had a farm when I was young just an hour’s ride north of Inverness. Mostly grain and sheep, but we kept a few horses. Clydesdales,” she added with a grin. “I’d go out in the evenings once the work was done and ride until supper.”

“Inverness?” she said, eyes widening. “That’s so far away.”

“It’s the only home I’ve ever known.” Susan sighed. “Made it all the harder to leave.”

“Why did you, then?”

Susan looked over at her, before pursing her lips and turning her head back to the road. “I had to sell the farm,” she said. “My parents passed away ten years ago and I couldn’t run it without them—but I still had three siblings to support, and they were all too young to work.”

A light breeze kicked up; Theresa could feel it through her loosely braided hair. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

“You get used to it after a while.” Susan batted a stray curl out of her eyes. “Now, technically speaking, I was hardly of an age to work myself—I was barely fifteen—but it was either find a job or lose the family, so.” She shrugged. “There were more opportunities down south, so I found myself there—and then eventually, when I learned that Lord and Lady Buchanan needed a stable hand, I found myself here, and they were kind enough to take me on.”

“I’m glad they did. You’re the best we’ve had.”

Susan was silent for a moment before speaking again. “Thank you, Milady,” she whispered. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Theresa once again felt her face grow warm. “Oh, think nothing of it,” she said. “Anyway, do you think we could break into a trot?”

“Oh, you’re ready to go there?” said Susan; even without looking over, Theresa could hear her smirk. “You best be careful, it takes some getting used to in this position. Might feel strange.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Might lose your maidenhead.” Theresa’s head whipped over to Susan, predictably grinning. “It’s why they invented the side-saddle, you know. To protect the _reputation_ of young ladies.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Swear I’m not. Still want to give it a go?”

Theresa’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll race you.”

“Deal. Now, come on, let’s go—firm kick to the sides, that should do it—there you are— _there you are!_ ” Theresa yelped as Rowan began to trot, trying to grip his sides tightly as she felt herself bounce against the saddle. “Try to rise and fall with him, it’ll make it easier—like that, yes, there you go!” Theresa laughed as she increased her speed, the wind rushing past her face as Susan began to catch up with her.

Eventually, when the warm afternoon air gave way to a cooler evening, the two slowed down their pace and made their way back to the stables. Susan dismounted first, and then reached over to Theresa to help her down; the two led their horses back through the stables, and Theresa helped Susan carry their saddles and lead ropes back to the tack room. Theresa had helped redesign it when Mummy had decided it was time for the stables to be renovated, and she was rather pleased with her aesthetic choices; all her rosettes and certificates stood out quite nicely against the dark mahogany.

“Thank you, Susan,” she said, once she’d hung up the saddle back in its place. “I had a wonderful time today.”

“My pleasure, Milady,” she said, then paused, looking over Theresa. Her eyes flitted down, and she clicked her tongue. “Oh, dear.”

Her heart jolted. “What is it?”

“Your boots are all muddy.” She shook her head, before turning to walk away. “Best get you cleaned up before you track it into the house, Milady.”

As soon as she found a rag, she knelt down in front of Theresa; a thrum of electricity made its way through her body. “These Irish Hunters, I swear.” Theresa nodded dumbly along, transfixed by the top of her head as she passed the rag over her boots. The sun filtered in through the small windows, hitting her head at just the right angle to make it glow like a halo. “Beautiful creatures, but hardly any restraint to them.”

Satisfied with her work, she stood up and made to leave, though not without sending one last grin her way. “As you were, Milady.”

Theresa could only stand there as she left, not even bothering to change out of her boots for a good several minutes.

Eventually, though, she caved in, slipping on her proper skirt back over her Jodhpurs and getting into proper shoes before making her way back into the house to bathe before supper.

Just before she sunk into the warm water, she couldn’t help but notice her garments, piled lazily in the corner of the bathroom; right on her undergarments, she could see the twin specks of blood, almost minuscule enough to go by unnoticed.

 _Might lose your maidenhead,_ Susan had warned her.

And though she knew it was from the trot, she still couldn’t help but want Susan to be responsible.

The thing about birthday parties was that there was only so much one could occupy oneself with.

Dinner had been a straightforward affair, and the reception was not much different; Theresa was already on her third Manhattan by ten forty-five, idly sitting at a small table with the daughters of her parents’ society friends as they gossiped about the new rationing and their volunteering and the handsome soldier boys roaming the streets. Most of them were huddled away safely in their estates, away from the constant bombs that fell on London nowadays, but they all knew how bad it could get; even now, after nearly half a year’s worth of work, the damage done to the Halcyon’s ballroom was clear if one cared to look closely.

And look closely she had, though more in pursuit of a particular fellow than signs of damage.

Toby Hamilton was at the bar again, chatting up the American sitting beside him. He’d been there for most of the night, and Theresa had wanted to walk up to him, start another conversation, but ever since his rejection last September, she hadn’t known where to start.

Not like she could even understand what she wanted from him anymore. True, his dismissal of her had stung, but it had also brought about a relief she hadn’t been able to comprehend. And even now, while she felt drawn to him, the thought of going beyond a mere conversation made her feel sick to her stomach, nothing at all like Susan—

 _Stop it,_ she told herself, taking another healthy swig of her drink. Proper ladies did not lust after servants, and certainly not the female ones; proper ladies settled down with proper men, even if they were second sons who could hardly hold a conversation with a woman their age. Proper ladies married proper men and had proper children with them, properly sequestered away in their estate.

So, if anything, it _had_ to be Toby. If he couldn’t make it work for her, then…

Thankfully, she managed to find her chance when he excused himself from the bar and head out. Theresa jumped to her feet and followed behind him, wondering what the rest of the gentry must be thinking of her at this moment. She didn’t know if she wanted their approval or their shame.

“Toby?” she called out; he had rounded a corner and disappeared into the back hallways, and she nearly lost him among the liquor bottles. “Toby, hello?” She heard his footsteps increase in their pace; undeterred, she broke out into a light job, soon catching right back up to his heels. “Tooooby?”

“ _What?_ ” he said, turning around sharply on his heel.

This was it. Her once chance at propriety.

She took a step forward and pressed her lips against his.

She felt him flinch, but she had to hold on for just a few seconds longer, if only to understand why _it wasn’t working._ Toby’s lips felt nice against hers, yes, but there were no fireworks going off in her chest, no thrum of electricity working its way through her heart—just a faint echo, a hollow facsimile of the feelings she was supposed to have. A mockery of romance.

Pulling away, she surveyed his face; his eyes were wide, and his hands were frozen at his side. He looked every bit how she felt.

“Nope,” she said, taking a step back. “Absolutely nothing.”

“…Theresa, what in the _world_ —”

“Nothing,” she repeated, shaking her head. “I didn’t feel anything—” Her hands began to shake, and she felt a choked laugh rise to her throat. “Not a single thing, oh God, I really am—I’m—”

“Theresa?” His face fell, and he took a step towards her—just as soon as she slumped against the wall, her entire body trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind. “Theresa, what’s wrong?”

She wanted to answer, honestly, but her voice felt stuck in her throat along with her breath. “I—I—”

“Hey.” She felt his hand on her shoulder. “Theresa, breathe.” She shook her head. “Slowly. Deep breath in, deep breath out…” She struggled, but managed to shakily follow his words, slowing down the pace of her breaths. “Good. Now, tell me what’s wrong?”

Theresa stared down at her hands. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “Toby, I’m begging you.”

“It’s not something bad, is it?” His hand grasped her shoulder even tighter. “Oh, God, you’re not _hurt,_ are you?”

“No, I just…” She took a deep breath. “Toby, I’m a lesbian.”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

“Oh,” he eventually said, barely a whisper.

“ _Oh?_ ” she yelped. “That’s all?”

“No, I just—” He shook his head, though his face had completely relaxed. “I thought it would be something bad.”

He _thought_ it would be something bad. As in, he didn’t think what she had just shared—the source of her shame for the past several months—was nothing to be repulsed by.

Toby paused for a moment, before looking over his shoulder. “Look,” he said, “I know I promised not to tell anyone, but I think I might know someone who… well, someone you can talk to. Someone who understands.” He looked down at his hands. “I was actually supposed to meet him right now, but…”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to interrupt—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, waving his hands. “It’s important, he’ll understand.”

With that, he stood up and extended an arm to her. Theresa looked at it for a moment before taking it and letting herself be hoisted to her feet.

Whoever this person was, he couldn’t be all that bad; after all, Toby trusted him and she, despite her better judgement, trusted Toby. She wasn’t entirely sure _how_ he could understand, or what sort of talk she would have with him, but that was just something to find out once they got to wherever they were going.

Their destination ended up being just down the hall in the wine store, where the shelves arched around and created a small alcove. The barman from earlier—Mr. Joshi, she believed he was called—was already busy restocking; at the sound of their footsteps, however, he turned around and smiled at—

“Toby,” he said, with more fondness than one would expect from staff. His eyes momentarily flitted down to look over the other man and—

_…Oh._

Well, no wonder Toby never returned her affections!

Theresa couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. Instantly, Mr. Joshi’s face fell, and he turned to look at her with a furrowed brow.

“…Lady Theresa?”

“Adil, look—” Toby held up his hands again. “I can explain—well, actually, I think she can explain a bit better…”

He turned his head to her, and she nodded, smoothing out her skirt. Working up the courage to confess to Toby had been hard enough, but this time, knowing who they were… well, she wasn’t alone anymore.

“I think I’m like you.”

Mr. Joshi—Adil—blinked. “I’m not sure I follow, Lady Theresa.”

Her hands bunched up in the silky fabric. “Well, there’s this girl…”

His gaze softened. “ _Oh._ ”

“Right, and, well, I just told Toby, and I didn’t know what to do, and he said I could talk to you because you understood?”

Adil glanced down at his watch. “I’ve got a few minutes to spare,” he said, sinking down to sit against the shelves. Toby and Theresa both followed suit. “So, there’s a girl?”

Theresa nodded, already feeling her heart pick up its pace at the mere thought of Susan. “The stable girl,” she whispered, still barely allowing herself to be so candid. “Daddy hired her last year, and I… I can’t get her out of my mind.” She shyly looked up at Adil; he was silent, but his head was tilted forward, as if to absorb her every word. “And she… I mean, I don’t know, she’s just so gorgeous, and brilliant, and I feel safe talking to her, and she’s already taught me so much, and I want to do right by her, and I… I want to kiss her, and, well—”

Nope. That topic she was absolutely _not_ going to mention to a pair of men, even if they were both homosexuals.

“…you know?” she said, waving her hands around in the hopes that they’d understand what she meant. “All that.” She huffed. “And I know I don’t fancy men, though God knows I tried—erm.” She looked down again. “Mr.—Adil…”

“Yes?”

She looked up sheepishly. “Sorry I kissed your boyfriend.”

Adil blinked, startling back.

“I just really needed to know whether or not—”

“It’s—” He shook his head. “It’s not me you should be apologizing to, Theresa.”

“Well, Toby, I’m sorry that I kissed you.”

“It’s alright, just don’t do it again.”

“Promise I won’t,” she said, giggling, and Toby soon joined her. “God, I can’t believe I ever thought I actually fancied you!”

“If I recall,” said Adil, leaning back comfortably, “it was you who first called him a dish.”

“You _what?_ ”

“Well, that’s beside the point!” she yelped. “More importantly—” She dropped her voice. “What do I do concerning the actual person I fancy?” At that, they both fell silent. “I mean, how did you do it?”

“On accident,” said Toby.

She rolled her eyes. “No, really, how did you do it?”

“On accident,” repeated Adil, looking sheepishly to the side. “I… wasn’t thinking and kissed Toby in the wine cellar.”

Theresa’s eyes flew open. “That’s it?” she said incredulously. “You just _kissed him?_ ”

“Yes, but don’t you dare follow my lead,” he said; Theresa could swear his cheeks were darker than usual. “It was an impulsive decision and not one I recommend you do.”

“But look where it got us,” said Toby, smiling softly.

Adil returned the smile, laughing softly. “Look where it got us indeed,” he said, reaching out to squeeze his lover’s hand.

God, it was so romantic.

Theresa clapped her hands together. “Well, I’m absolutely delighted for you two,” she said, “but if I can’t just kiss her, then where does that leave me?”

“Well, erm…” Toby retreated his hand from Adil’s. “As far I know, there are fewer consequences for women, at least legally? But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

“Right, but I don’t even know where to start.” She slumped back. “I don’t even know if she fancies women. She wears men’s clothes, but that’s probably just because she has a man’s job.”

“Plenty of women are taking men’s jobs without taking their wardrobe,” said Adil. “Does she cut her hair?”

“As short as yours.”

“Makeup?”

“None, she says it’s impractical.”

The two men exchanged a few glances, before Adil eventually cleared his throat.

“With all due respect, Theresa,” he said, “I’m almost fairly certain she’s a lesbian.”

Her heart rose. “Really?”

“ _Almost_ certain,” he repeated. “ _Almost_. But I would not be surprised if she was.”

She sighed, resting a hand over her still-thundering heart. Susan was a lesbian—well, Susan was _almost certainly_ a lesbian. “She could like me back,” she said dreamily, before suddenly snapping back to attention. “But—God, how on earth am I supposed to find out?”

“Great question!” Toby turned to Adil. “Adil, any advice?”

“Er—well—” Adil looked down at his hands. “I mean, you just… just tell her without telling her.”

“But what does that _mean?_ ” she whined, her shoulders sinking.

“I don’t know, just try to be indirect!” he said. “You know, hint at your intentions without revealing them… though she might be too thick to get it on the first try, mind you…”

“And how, exactly, am I supposed to hint at my intentions without—”

In the distance, a siren began to wail.

Adil squeezed his eyes shut. “They’re back.”

“We have to go,” said Toby, scrambling to his feet and hoisting Theresa up. “Come on now, down to the shelter, I’ll show you the way—”

“Is it the Germans?” she asked, looking nervously around as a seemingly impossible array of staff and guests began thundering down the hall as if it were all a practiced routine, one they’d done hundreds of times before. “I thought they’d stopped!”

“For a few weeks, yes, but they can never let us have any _bloody_ peace and quiet—”

The stairwell was almost eerily silent; the illustrious jazz band had been replaced with the clattering of heels and the cacophony of the sirens, still whining from outside the windows.

“Happy birthday to me,” she muttered grimly.

“Happy bloody birthday, Theresa.”

Even two hours later, Theresa still found herself staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep as the bombs thundered overhead.

“What time is it?” she whispered to Toby, who had given up pacing the floor for sitting at the edge of her makeshift bed. His tie and collar were long since discarded, his jacket lazily slung over his arm.

“Quarter past one,” he whispered back.

“God.” She huddled further under the blankets as another bomb from overhead rattled the bedframe. “This late at night and they’re still at it?”

She felt the mattress shift as Toby slumped down onto it.

“They’re not idiots, Theresa,” he said, kicking his shoes off and letting them fall in a pile beside her own discarded heels—the only part of her ensemble she had bothered to do away with before trying to get some rest. “It’s precisely because it’s late that they’re at it.”

Another bomb, another vibration sent throughout the room. Beside her, Toby sat up, eyes fixated on where a group of waiters were huddled beneath their cream-colored jackets.

This time, she knew exactly who he was looking for.

“Toby, does it ever get hard?” His head whipped around to focus on her again. “With… with Adil? Your differences in station?”

He sighed, propping himself up on one arm as he lay back down. “Sometimes,” he said, looking back over. “Sometimes, yeah, I… I worry. I worry an awful lot.” His free hand curled up. “Every time he goes home, or whenever he’s not on duty, I can’t help but fear that it’ll be the last time we see each other.”

His hand began to tremble, and instinctively Theresa reached out for it, gently resting her hand atop his; instantly, it stilled, and he turned to fully cup her hand.

So freely were these touches given when there was no expectation of romance; it was curious.

“I worry, too,” she admitted, moving in closer. “I worry I’m pushing too hard, that she’ll have nowhere to go if I’m too insistent. I just want to do right by her.”

“You can’t push too hard,” he said. “She doesn’t have the same security that you do. You say your bit, and then you wait on her terms; she’ll come to you if she really feels the same way.”

“Give her some control, you mean?” The bedframe rattled. “Some power?”

“Exactly.”

Dimly, she wondered how many more were awake tonight; the party ran rather late, and she could imagine so many of her young acquaintances not willing to call it a night. How many more of them were staring up at the ceiling, willing for sleep to overtake them as the Germans did everything in their power to keep them up? How many more were stuck in limbo, fearing that each rattle could be the last before everything collapsed, despite the manager’s reassurances that this was the safest place to be in all of London?

“Is that how it is?” she asked. “With him?”

“We try our best,” he said. The pomade in his hair had long since lost its power, sending a few locks tumbling down his forehead. “It’s one of the few times we can be on equal footing with each other.” He smiled softly, then. “Honestly, it feels as if he’s got the upper hand sometimes.”

That, Theresa could understand. There might have been something wrong about it, but something about Susan made her want to submit to her whims and follow her lead. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t already at her beck and call in the tack room as she instructed her on grooming horses and hitching saddles—or when she’d sit her down, position her boots this way and that in an effort to wipe them spotless. And still, ceding the upper hand to a member of the staff… it wasn’t something one freely admitted to.

“You don’t find any shame in that?”

“Why should I?” he said. “Not when he’s half the reason why I even know I’m… well.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked down at their entwined hands. “I had no idea until he kissed me.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, _that’s_ what you meant by it being an accident?”

He snorted. “I wasn’t kidding,” he said. “But what a nice accident it was.”

“I bet,” she said. “Wait, then what’s the other half?”

“Of what?”

“You said Adil was half the reason you knew you were a homosexual. What’s the other half?”

Instantly, his brow furrowed, and he looked as if he had just bit into something sour.

“Toby?”

“You,” he finally admitted. “I hate to admit it, but I got into all of this because I was running away from you, and you left me no choice but to back up into the wine cellar, where Adil was, and… well, I’m sure you can guess what happened from there.”

A strange sense of pride welled up in her chest. “And that’s why you turned me down at the first dance?”

“You’re still hung up over that?”

“Well, you _were_ rather rude about it—” The walls rattled. How many more bombs were these damn Germans planning on dropping tonight? “But I am glad I could help you.”

“Oh, please, think nothing of it.”

Another bomb, another round of shaking. Another jolt to the heart.

“You will stay here, won’t you?” she asked timidly. “I can’t bear to be left alone.”

He squeezed her hand. “I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

Five hours later, Theresa awoke to another siren and a round of applause from those awake to hear it.

“Issit all over?” she muttered as she got up. Mother would throw a fit at all the creases in her brand-new dress; it would take the laundry maids ages to get it looking pristine again.

“God willing,” said Toby from beside her. “The time’s ten to six, so good morning.”

She groaned, rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hand. “Feels like I hardly slept a wink,” she said. “How bad is it out there?”

“No clue.” He got up, stretching his back from side to side. “Got a friend in the WVS—hopefully she’ll be able to tell us when she gets back.”

Around them, the guests were all beginning to stir, slowly getting their bearings about them. Within a few minutes Lord and Lady Buchanan finally caught up with their daughter, enveloping her in a tight embrace as they reassured each other that they were alright, it was all okay. Their nice clothes were all rumpled with sleep.

“Thank you,” said her father, “for looking after Tessie tonight.”

“It was no problem,” said Toby, fiddling with the lapels of his jacket.

“Really, though—” Theresa turned to him one last time before they made their way back. “Thank you, Toby. For everything.”

She tried to put as much weight as she could behind those words, and he seemed to catch them; with one last nod and a soft smile, he waved at her, and the party slowly made their way back upstairs, back into reality.

“It’s good to have you back, Milady.”

Theresa grinned, before pulling herself up onto Rowan with a grunt. “It’s good to be back, Susan,” she said, looking fondly over at the other woman as they took off. “I thought I’d be stuck in London forever. They cut off the tracks, the bastards.”

“I heard Westminster was completely on fire all night.” Susan sighed. “Was it true?”

“Well, I wasn’t in Westminster, but the assistant manager of the hotel was, and it really was that bad.” The lavender was in bloom; she could smell its sweet fragrance all the way from up here. “Said it took the firefighters hours to put out what was left of the House of Commons.”

“The bawbags,” she muttered. “I’ve heard they said it’ll be the last of it, though. That the Germans are giving up on England.”

“I hope so.” The wind rustled pleasantly through the trees as they walked. “Toby told me how hard it was in the fall, when the bombs were dropping every night… I hope it doesn’t come back to that.”

“Mr. Hamilton?” said Susan. “You’re on speaking terms now?”

“He’s actually quite the decent man, once he’s realized you have no romantic designs on him…”

The two kept up their pleasant conversation as they walked along the gardens, before abandoning it in favor of another race through the grass; however, the pleasant feeling lingered in Theresa’s heart even as their chatter ceased—because Susan was right beside her, spending her time with her instead of aimlessly waiting with the horses. Susan had patience for her gossip and always had a clever comment of her own. Susan wore men’s clothing and cut her hair short and refused to wear makeup.

Susan was almost certainly a lesbian.

And all Theresa had to do was ask her out without directly asking her. Easy enough.

“You know,” said Theresa, once they had dismantled and were busy putting away their gear in the tack room, “our riding club is to have an exhibition soon.” She grunted as she hoisted her saddle back into place. “It’ll be the first time I’ll be in show astride. Wonder how I’ll fare?”

“If today’s any indication,” said Susan, “I daresay you’ll be just fine, Milady.”

Theresa turned away, feeling something creep under her skin. _Milady._ She remembered how Adil had looked at Toby so fondly, how he’d referred to him only by his given name. They were on equal footing; Toby had even said he’d often had the upper hand. There was no expectation of propriety between them when they were alone.

“Well, I’ve got quite the reputation to uphold.” Theresa pointed up at the string of rosettes lining the wall. “You see those? Some are Mummy’s, but most I’ve won myself. I-I mean,” she said, heat creeping up to her skin, “not to be rude, but… there’s a lot on the line for me.”

Susan leaned against the wall. “Still quite impressive, Milady.”

“Yes, but that’s not even all of it.” She took a deep breath. “My absolute favorites I keep in my room.” Her hands hung uselessly at her side; she didn’t even have a skirt to bunch up anymore, not ever since she dropped the pretenses and just started heading down to the stables in her Jodhpurs. “I can show them to you, if you want?”

“My apologies,” said Susan, “but I’m afraid I’m on-call until tonight.”

“Then after your shift,” she said, her heart beating relentlessly. Was she being clear enough? Too clear? “You’ll have to be careful, though. Mummy doesn’t like the outside staff hanging around the house… but tonight, once she’s asleep, she won’t mind.” She looked up at her from beneath her lashes. “Can I expect you tonight… Susie?”

Susan turned her gaze to her. She couldn’t quite make out the look in her eyes, but they were wide as they held her gaze.

“I’ll see what I can do…” She bit her lip, and Theresa’s heart skipped a beat. “…Theresa.”

The hour was near eleven when Theresa heard a knock at her bedroom window.

She sat up straight, letting the covers fall to her lap as Susan climbed in. “I thought you’d never come,” she whispered, jittering in anticipation.

“Apologies.” Her feet thumped against the carpet as she landed. “I got held up a bit.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She leaned forward, suddenly feeling a wave of anxiety rush over her. God, was she too subtle? Was Susan really only here for her rosettes? “All that matters is that you’re here now—”

Susan cut her off by planting a hand on her shoulder and kissing her, and she could feel the fireworks going off in her chest.

Theresa had only ever kissed one person before: Eliza Cameron, back at boarding school. They’d both claimed it was for practice, though she couldn’t help but feel that she had other intentions. It had been a quick and chaste affair, full of shy giggles in the aftermath. However, it was clearly different tonight.

Susan kissed her achingly slowly, leaning in to fully embrace her, and Theresa reached out in turn, grabbing her face and pulling her in closer. She tasted of peppermint, the same aroma that clung to her skin; her cheeks were surprisingly soft beneath Theresa’s touch. When they parted, Theresa found herself leaning forward, not wanting to be parted from the other woman for even a second.

“I never thought you’d ask,” she said, leaning her forehead against Theresa’s. “I thought it was completely hopeless.” She laughed; Theresa could feel every puff of air against her lips. “God, I can’t believe that—”

Theresa pulled her back in, before falling back onto the bed; Susan quickly settled on top of her, a pleasant weight as they continued to kiss. Theresa threaded her hands into her soft curls, and she sighed—so beautifully—trailing her hands down her chest until—

“No, no, wait—”

Instantly, Susan sat back up. “Oh, God, I—I hope I didn’t—I'm so sorry—”

“No, don’t be!” Theresa propped herself up, laying a hand on Susan’s shoulder. “I want to, but… not yet. Not now. It’s, erm…” She bit her lips. “It’s all rather new.”

Susan’s face softened. “It doesn’t have to be ever,” she said, gently cupping her face and running her thumb across her cheek, and Theresa’s heart nearly burst from her chest. “I’m sorry if I tried to rush things.”

“It’s alright,” she said, leaning into her touch. “I’ll be ready, one day. Maybe later.”

Susan leaned in, gently kissing her forehead. “Don’t think I don’t enjoy this as well,” she said. “I’ll have you, Tessa.” Theresa nearly vibrated off the bed at hearing the nickname. “In whatever way you’re comfortable with.”

A lump rose in Theresa’s throat and, unable to say much else, she reached forward to pull Susan into a tight embrace, gently resting her head on her shoulder.

“I like you, Susie,” she whispered, breathing in the comforting smell of mint and rosemary. “I like you an awful lot.”

Susan pressed a sweet kiss to the nape of her neck. “I like you too,” she said, before yawning. “But—and I’ll hope you’ll forgive me—I really must be getting back to bed.”

Theresa giggled, pulling back from her arms. “Get some rest, then,” she said, then hesitated, her hands settling onto her chest. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“See you tomorrow,” she said, grinning impossibly wide. Theresa couldn’t help but kiss her one last time before she was off, crawling back out through the window.

In the morning, Theresa could have almost sworn it was nothing but a sweet dream, but the window was still cracked ajar and there were still muddy footprints on the carpet from where Susan had stood.

Susan. Her Susie, who really did kiss her so sweetly and lovingly. Who wanted her in whatever way she felt comfortable with.

With a giggle, she fell back against the pillows, pressing her hands to her flushed face.

The aroma of mahogany and clean leather lingered in the tack room as Theresa and Susan put away their gear.

“I still say I won,” said Theresa, tossing back her head as she slung the lead back over its post. “Twice out of three, after all.”

Susan snorted. “Och, ‘twas the two _shorter_ races,” she said. “Need I remind that the last leg was the longest by far? And need I remind you who came ahead there, _Tessa_ _?_ ”

“Doesn’t matter. Technically I still won two out of three.”

A firm hand on her shoulder turned her around.

“Getting a wee bit cocky there, aren’t we?” said Susan, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. “I have half a mind to put you in your place tonight.”

A shiver ran down her spine, and she couldn’t help but sigh and pull Susan closer to her.

It wasn’t as if she were a stranger to Susan’s promise. Her lover had gently acquainted her with intimacy a week after that fateful kiss, slipping back into her bedroom and running her fingers across her body with such reverence Theresa truly felt as if she were to burst; she’d had to fight hard to keep quiet, lest her passion awaken someone and lead to an investigation that neither of them wanted. When she’d rolled Susan onto her back to return the favor, her fingers had trembled, but her lover has been patient as she guided her, told her exactly how she liked it and how good she was doing—and when she’d come undone, Theresa couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride that it had been her doing. Since then, the sweet May weather had slipped into the balmy heat of June, and Theresa could feel it to her very core. She wanted to savor it, plumb its deepest depths and see just how far she could take it. She needed more.

“Why wait?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Mummy and Daddy are still at their function. They won’t be back until after supper.”

“You still have to change,” she said. “Run a bath, I’ll meet you at the window in an hour.”

“No, I want you _now,_ ” she insisted, wrapping her arms tightly against her back. “Right here.”

Susan sharply inhaled. “It’s not safe, the door—”

“—is bolted shut. No one shall disturb us.” Theresa grinned. “We have all the time in the world.”

Susan pulled back; a stormy look crossed her brow. “You set this up, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t help it,” she said. “I couldn’t wait until—”

Susan cut her off with a firm kiss to the base of her neck; Theresa swallowed back a whimper.

“What am I supposed to do with you, you naughty girl?” she whispered, lightly biting at the outer corner of her ear. Theresa didn’t both holding back this time. “You’re too eager for your own good.”

“ _Please,_ ” she whined, holding her girlfriend as close as she could. “Please, Susie, I need you.”

“Well, aren’t you insistent.” Susan pressed another kiss to her ear. “How can I say no?”

Theresa leaned back against the wall with a smile; Susan soon leaned in and kissed it right off her lips.

Already hot and bothered by their earlier interaction, the two were soon moving against each other as they continued to trade hot and filthy kisses; within seconds, they were already scrambling to disrobe each other, Susan fumbling with her girlfriend’s tie as Theresa pushed the braces off her shoulders. Their shirts landed in an undignified pile at their feet, joined soon by Theresa’s silky blue brassiere; Susan's hands were firm as they trailed down her body, bare save for her Jodhpurs.

“Have I ever told you,” she whispered, cupping her arse as she continued to shift against her, “how incredible you look in these?”

She had—many times, in fact—but Theresa never tired of hearing it. “Say it again,” she said breathily.

“Incredible,” she repeated against her collarbone. “So sexy I can hardly stand it.” Her hands began to squeeze at her backside. “It’s a shame I cannae take you through these.”

Theresa threw her head back as one of Susan’s hands crept down the front of her trousers, teasing with an achingly gentle touch—when she spotted the lead rope out of the corner of her eye, still dangling innocuously on its post.

Oh, to hell with it. If she was to go all in, why not start now?

“Suze—” Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to get her lover to listen. “Susie, wait, wait—”

Instantly, Susan pulled back, pulling her hands to herself again. “What is it?” she whispered, eyes suddenly wide with concern.

“Nothing wrong, but…” She bit her lip, running her hand back over the rope before yanking it off its post. “I thought we’d try something new today.”

Susan stared down at the rope. “You… you want to be tied up?”

“I, I just thought it could be fun,” she said. She’d thought about it many times after she and Susan had gotten together, let herself run wild in a way she never would have allowed herself before, and the thought of ceding control to the woman she trusted with her life, the woman she loved… there was something oddly enticing about it. “And besides, I _have_ been a naughty girl.” She smirked. “You still need to put me in my place.”

Susan laughed softly, her teeth grazing her lower lip in the way that always drove Theresa mad. “I suppose I do, aye,” she said, before gingerly taking the rope from her hands. “Just… tell me if it’s too tight, please? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Of course,” said Theresa, her heart hammering away as she slid her arms above her head, letting her wrists rest on the post. Susan was gentle as she tied her up, fingers working deftly around the knots; it was a sort of paradox, how one minute she could be so arrogant and assertive and the next she was nothing if not achingly sweet. In all honesty, it was this contradiction that made Theresa love her even more; even with their little show of power, she knew that at the end of the day, all they both wanted was to leave each other happier than before.

Perhaps that was what made submitting to her all the more worthwhile; it wasn’t out of obligation, it was for the thrill of it all, the trust she had in her lover to treat her well even as she adjusted the knots around the post and ensured that her wrists were securely bound.

“That’s not too tight, is it?” she asked, stepping back to admire her handiwork—and, perhaps, the scenery.

Theresa gave her hands an experimental tug; the lashes were secure, but they weren’t so tight as to truly hurt or cut off her circulation. It was like a snug embrace. “It’s perfect.” She tilted her head up, smiling widely. “Now come on, then. We haven’t got all day—”

Susan clapped her hands back onto her shoulders. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, her voice low and husky. “We’ll take as long as we need to.” She leaned in; Theresa could feel her sweet peppermint-scented breath over her lips. “Are we clear?”

Theresa closed her eyes, feeling her pulse thrum hard and fast between her legs. “Yes, Milady,” she whispered, and she took some satisfaction in the strangled moan that Susan let out before pressing their lips together once more.

Susan nipped at her bottom lip, before trailing her lips down her chest. Her hands grabbed at her hip, before finally slipping her trousers down and sliding her hand down between her legs, tracing frustratingly gentle patterns back and forth without going any further.

“Hold still,” she whispered against her right breast.

“I _am,_ ” said Theresa, though her hips kept bucking forward in anticipation.

She was startled back into clarity when she felt a firm hand slap her buttocks.

“I said, hold still.”

Theresa gasped; if the touch was meant to dissuade her, it quite had the opposite effect. “Do that again,” she choked out, though she did manage to keep her hips still.

“Are you sure?”

“Please, Milady.”

With a sharp inhale, Susan reached out and smacked her again—and a few more times, for good measure, eliciting a barely restrained moan from her each time.

“Never thought you’d like being punished.”

“Well, I’ve been a _really_ bad girl today,” she managed to choke out through her wanton haze.

Theresa could feel Susan’s laughter against her breasts. “Yes, but surprisingly good to me,” she said, before dropping down to her knees. “I think I shall give you what you want.”

She finally slipped her tongue inside her, and Theresa threw her head back against the wall, seeing stars.

One of Theresa’s other society friends was wed that September.

Lord Wiltshire’s daughter celebrated her union with a Lieutenant Langfeld, who, despite being a mere second son, at least had the decency to be an esteemed army gentleman. The reception was held in the refurbished Halcyon Hotel, as was growing quite fashionable these days; Lord Hamilton was too busy flying over France, so Toby was picked to be the best man in his place.

Sometimes, Daddy wondered when it would be her turn next; all her friends were getting picked off by bright young men, so surely, she would be next in line. Perhaps, he wondered aloud, if that nice Mr. Hamilton would propose sometime soon, what with all the letters he and Tessie had been exchanging; at that, Theresa simply had to bite her lips and stay silent, lest her incredulous laughter give it all away.

“Well, good evening,” she said as soon as she spotted the best man at the bar; he waved her over with a bright smile and pressed a light kiss to her cheek as they embraced. “Have you got your speech ready for tonight?”

“Not at all, I’m afraid,” said Toby, sitting back down as she pulled up a seat beside him. “I’ve asked Mr. O’Hara for some pointers, but I don’t think they’ll do me a load of good.”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t be _that_ bad. Just speak some rubbish about true love conquering all, that’ll please the masses.” She leaned in, dropping her voice. “Just look at the bar while you speak.”

He snorted, though a clear blush crept up to his cheeks. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? It's not like anyone will understand why…”

“If I may interrupt, I’ve heard it said that the best speeches come from the heart.” Theresa’s head turned just as Adil made his way to them. “Lady Theresa. Glad you could join us tonight.”

She beamed. “The pleasure’s all mine,” she said. “But please, do try to talk some sense into Mr. Hamilton. I’ve never seen anyone try to wing a best man’s speech.”

He clicked his tongue as he kept stirring whatever drink he was preparing. “A task easier said than done. I’ve been trying for ages.”

“Your vote of confidence is much appreciated, Adil,” said Toby drily. Adil just smiled and strained the deep amber cocktail into a glass, dropped a cherry into it, and slid it Theresa’s way. Even without asking, he’d already had her favorite Manhattan ready. “Look, I’ll have it by dinner. I just need time.”

“And confidence, evidently,” he replied, setting forward a whiskey sour on the rocks. Toby’s hand snapped forward to grab it, their fingers briefly mingling over the glass as they exchanged a flirty glance; Theresa wasn’t sure how they kept getting away with it.

“God,” said Toby once Adil had departed to deal with the other clients at the bar, “he’s such an arse.”

“I can see why you like him, then,” she said, taking a sip of the sweet concoction. “Don’t lie, Toby. You’re the one who told me he’s got the upper hand.”

He sputtered, setting his drink down. “Speaking of which,” he said, “how are things with… well, how’s the riding going?”

Theresa smiled giddily down at her drink. “Marvelous,” she said. “It’s really been the best thing to happen to me all year.” Even four months in, Susan still managed to set her heart aflutter with each smile, each stolen touch, each secret kiss. All her life, Theresa had believed she’d merely have to settle for a man she could tolerate—and then, she had come along and broken the illusion, made her feel safe and loved in a way she never thought she could be. “Though I’ve been exploring new avenues and I have to say, I will never be able to look at a riding crop the same way ever again.”

“Thank you for that unneeded image.” Still, he looked at her with pride in his eyes. “I’m happy for you two. Really.”

She beamed. “Thank you,” she said. “Oh, and a very happy anniversary.”

“Technically it won’t be until tomorrow, but thank you.”

“Have anything special planned?”

He took a sip of his drink. “Of course,” he said. “I mean, it’s nothing too grand, but I hope it’ll be nice.”

“Planning for the anniversary, but not the speech.” She grinned. “I see you have your priorities all sorted out.”

He laughed. “You hush,” he said, though their shared giggles disturbed any illusion that he was truly cross. “Well. Here’s to living our best lives, then?”

She raised her glass, clinking it gently against his. “To living our best lives,” she echoed, feeling thoroughly like the luckiest woman in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic now comes with [cover art](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/758630655973916703/791452328220950538/IMG_20201223_154638.jpg) bc sometimes a bitch just needs to be artsy!  
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed all that! Yadda yadda, feel free to follow me on my Tumblr [@lesbianholster](https://lesbianholster.tumblr.com/), and see y'all next time...


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